Fires Of Destiny
by Cameron Baum
Summary: Short story about Claire, and the flaming train in the first episode.


**The Fires Of Destiny**

_We all imagine ourselves the agents of our destiny. Capable in determining our own fate. But have we truly any choice in when we rise, or when we fall? Or is there a force larger than ourselves bid us our direction? Is it evolution that takes us by the hand? Does science point our way? Or is it God who intervenes, keeping us safe?_

_For all his bluster it is the sad province of man that he cannot choose his triumph. He can only choose how he will stand when the call of destiny comes, hoping that he'll have the courage to answer._

_- Mohinder Suresh, Don't Look Back_

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Oh my _God_.

I honestly cannot _believe_ what I'm seeing. It's... a train. A freaking _train_. And it's come off, and- how can it be on fire? What was it _carrying_? Must have been something _way _flammable. I can't help but just keep walking forward, going up to the police line, trying to take in what I'm seeing.

Is there anyone hurt? Is there anyone _inside_ there? Can anyone _survive_ those flames?

And the noise, the roaring rage of the fire, the shrill sirens of the fire trucks... it makes it _such_ a scene of chaos...

I hear Zach come up behind me. At least, I _think_ I do. It's such a total noise-fest, it's unbelievable.

"It's cool, huh?" Typical Zach. Our town gets polluted because losers crash their train, and all he sees is a big party fire for him. I can here the smile in his voice. Doesn't he get how much this _sucks_?

Guys can be such _morons_...

I can't help but look at the fire, though and wonder just one thing...

"How hot do you think it is in there?"

The words tumble out of me after a moment of realisation, but once out there, I know I mean them. Because I need to know that I can die. After all, who wants to be born a stupid _freak_? I sure as hell don't. As I stare on, my thoughts are becoming more and more certain. I wanna see if I can die in there. In that fire. I hold up the tape without even looking at Zach.

"Turn on the camera." My voice sounds as certain as I am, which is wanting to go in there, and see if I can burn to death. 'Cause it's better that than live as a freak.

I don't want to be a freak.

Period.

I hear the camera being flipped open, which is my cue. I crouch down, having to sneak past the officials. That's not hard, though, because everyone is more worried about getting people out than people going in. I feel the thudding of my heart, the tingling in my hands from the explosive surge of adrenaline now pumping through my veins. My breathing, that's getting heavier and faster, because no matter how likely it is I'll still get out in one piece, my body's reacting normal. Which is cool. Just wish I could kill myself.

It all started six months ago, when I had glass impaling my hand. Jackie had to be a complete Douchebag, and shove me. I fell, and went into the glass. But that's besides the point. After a couple of days, Dad wanted to check my hand, which was still bandaged up. I'd forgotten to change it, so I let him look at it, because I feared it had gone septic or something. It would have been so awful if I'd lost my hand. How many cheerleaders are there with just one hand?

Anyway, I stared at my hand. It had healed up. At first, I thought there was nothing wrong. But the next day, I got worried that the scars would be bad, so I took a closer look.

There weren't any.

I mean, how can that be? Then it struck me. Everyone gets sick. _Every_one. But I couldn't remember the last time _I_ had gotten sick. That's when I started to get wiggy freaked. It took a couple of weeks for me to get the courage to try the first experiment. I had a razor blade, and had downed a whole bottle of Vodka I stole from the liquor store. I thought I had to be _way_ drunk, because I didn't feel anything from the booze, so I cut into my hand hard. _God_, there was a lot of blood. _Way_ lots. But then, it all started to heal after a minute. You could actually _see_ it close up. That's when I knew. That's when I knew the truth, but didn't want to believe it.

I was a freak. And we are talking plenty big-tine freak here. As in Queen of the freaks.

Doesn't life just _suck_? Admit it, it does.

Anyway, the reason why I was walking this way is because I had just done Attempt Number Six. Zach was filming it, of course - I need to see what's going on. Like in Science – you record your experiment. I think I blacked out for a second when my body hit the floor, but all I had was some broken bones. Nothing major, really. No intestines hanging out, none of that. So jumping from a great height isn't fatal for me. Which just _blows_, right? My life is so badly over...

I wish I was an alien. If I was an alien, I'd have an excuse.

I'm running fast, as fast as I can in this heat and flame, my hands rushing up to my face when there's a a big jet of searing fire blasting out, up the dusty road to the wreckage. You know, if there's anyone in there, I'll help them out. I mean, who _wouldn't_? Right? What loser would leave someone to die? I have to ignore the the quaking of my legs as I run. I can't believe just how _scared_ I'm getting. Total surprise. Which is good, right?

Okay, I'm under train-tracks, and the wooden bridge-support thingy is still looking solid. To my left is a burning cargo carriage, the side door wide open. Guess that's the one I should go for...

God, my breathing's getting hard. The _heat_... it's like it's burning up the air, it's so hot. I can feel the air hurt my lungs, the smoke choking my airways, but there's _nothing_. I'm not collapsing or anything. But stopping in the middle of this inferno, I'm battered by the sheer heat in here. And I'm coughing now. Which is good, right? Normal people choke in fumes, so maybe I'm normal? I _so_ hope I am...

As I am fighting against the urge to flee, I feel my body tense up from staying in this vision of Hell. My eyelids are forcing me to squint, trying to protect my eyes from drying out or burning up. My eyebrows knit together as I scan about the place, trying to see if anyone is trapped here. I want to so badly grip on to the chains that are a little way off to my left, but they'll probably burn my hand. I look in their direction. Maybe I should? You know, see if scalding hot metal can do anything? Oh, wait. There's a guy trapped over there, at that pile. I think he's being overcome by the smoke. Looking at him, I just know he's not going to make it, not going to get out.

It's like instinct, you know. I'm just rushing to him, no fear, no doubt, no hesitation. I just _have_ to save him. Have to. I mean, what sort of monster would leave him there? I guess the serial killer type, who'll cut off the heads of his victims or something. Or eat their brains. There's a kinda guy who'll leave people to die.

I hoist him up, dragging him to his feet. He's so _heavy_... I don't know if I can do it. Drag him out. I don't know if I have the strength. But I'm not leaving him here. Not to die. No way. With a pained grunt, I just about manage it. He's not really concious. Great. That's _so_ not going to help me... with a half scream that rips painfully into my throat, I lever him upright enough to get my right shoulder under his left armpit, and get us both to the door. He staggers, and his weight pushes us both to my left, and into some flames.

Crap. I'm on fire.

Don't think about it. Just _don't_. Can't panic. Not now. We lurch forwards, my arm and my skirt blazing. I can feel the heat, the searing of my skin, the sick smell of my flesh burning, the flames cooking me while I'm still alive. I am so glad I didn't leave that guy in thee. Because I've just found out that burning to death is a truly horrible way to die. Have to focus. Need to get him to someone who can help him...

"Scotty! Scotty! Come on!"

I don't know who's shouting, or who Scotty is, but those words inspire me. I keep us both moving forwards, because I'm not a quitter. I'm not gonna give up. Period. There's something looming up towards me. Oh freaking God, some_thing_'s about to fall on me...

As I start to raise my roasting arm up in a sluggish attempt to defend myself, I feel something smother me. What? Oh. It's a fireman. Two. The other's got the guy. I stumble to the floor, the fire-fighter using his jacket to kill the flames on me. As he does so, I know what's happening, though it's all covered. Because it's the same for my lungs.

I'm healing up. I can freaking _feel_ it happen right now.

Even though it's happened to me many times now – hell, it happened not more than an hour ago – I still feel freaked by it. My body is _such_ a traitor. Why can't I just be hospitalised, for once? Why? My body is a traitor. I hate it.

I'm not a hero. I'm just a freak who can run into a fire and not burn to death.

"Hey, take it easy!" he says to me, as I struggle to get up.

"I'm okay! I'm fine!" I insist to him. He slide his jacket off, and rips into the hole in my cheerleader top's sleeve. I know what he'll find. Because I flt it finish a half second ago. He lets go, the look on his face one of total shock.

"There's no burns," he says wonderingly. I can't help but glower at him warily. I've just realised that I could end up locked in a lab, and cut up like a frog or something. And my family... how could I have done this to them? I was stupid. Stupid and selfish.

Thank G_od_... His co-worker is calling to him for help. He's rushing off, clearly the guy I just dragged out isn't doing so well. I'd stick around and help, but I'd only get in the way. And I don't wanna be trapped and experimented on.

I scramble up to my feet, and get away, ignoring the sounds of the fire-fighters doing CPR behind me.


End file.
